Lieutenant Taylor Jackson Collection, Volume 1

by J. T. Ellison

  “Thou know’st that this cannot be said

  A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead;

  Yet this enjoys before it woo,

  And pamper’d swells with one blood

  made of two;

  “I don’t know what the symbolism means to him. That’s the biggest problem, poetry, especially this type of romantic eighteenth-century work, is totally subjective. I can think ‘The Flea’ is about making love while another man may think it’s about smashing an insect. You know how that is. So I don’t even want to try to get into his psyche based on his poems of choice. But I promise you this, he wants Whitney to have these messages. I just wonder if the story was meant to be Whitney.”

  Taylor ran her hand along the back of Baldwin’s neck. “Let me call in the BOLO. You need to try and relax for a few minutes.”

  “Maybe you could help me with that?”

  “Maybe I can.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Taylor was lying on a warm, sunny beach, her long legs spread in front of her on a plastic chaise lounge. She shielded her eyes against the sun, watching the waves crest and break, tranquillity permeating her bones. There was no more to worry about. She was on a bona fide vacation with Baldwin at her side. She turned her head to take in his form, and instead was greeted by a sight that made her jump. Identical-twin midgets, both in blue double-breasted blazers and snowy-white ascots, stood at her right hand, leering. One held a silver tray with an old-fashioned rotary telephone. The phone rang, and Taylor shooed them away.

  “I’m not taking calls today, boys.” She started to roll over, get some sun on her back, but the midget with the phone stepped closer, shoving the tray at her. The phone continued to jangle incessantly, and Taylor finally reached out a hand…

  She came awake, realizing that it was her phone ringing. She groaned and rolled over, picking up the receiver with a grunted hello. She reached a hand out to find Baldwin, but his side of the bed was empty. She focused her attention back on the phone. A chirpy voice rang out into the bedroom.

  “Lieutenant, this is Metro Dispatch. I was asked to inform you that we have a possible home invasion in progress that your presence is requested at.”

  “Is anyone dead?”

  “No, ma’am, the message I was given—”

  “Then go away, Dispatch. If no one’s dead, they don’t need me.”

  “Lieutenant, Officer Parks is on the scene and requesting your company. He mentioned there might be a 216 involved that you would be interested in.”

  Shit. That got her attention. Bob Parks was a good friend, and if he thought there was a rape involved in the home invasion that she’d be interested in, and if she was being called off the books, that could only mean one thing. The Rainman.

  Taylor was out of the bed, trying to balance the phone between her neck and ear as she struggled into a pair of jeans. She realized the TV was on—sure enough, the identical-twin midgets in blue blazers and ascots were parading across the screen in a ridiculous late-night infomercial. No wonder she had been dreaming about them. But hey, maybe their investment opportunities could make her millions and she could quit this crazy job.

  “Where’s the scene, Dispatch?”

  “Off Old Hickory Boulevard across the street from Harpeth Hills Golf Course. A gated community called Middleton. Are you familiar with the area?”

  “Got it, Dispatch. Tell them I’m on my way. Raise Lincoln Ross and Marcus Wade for me, too, get them out there. I can be on-site in ten minutes.”

  She hung up the phone, buttoned her jeans, yanked on her cowboy boots and tucked in her T-shirt. Crossing to the dresser, she snapped her holster onto her hip, glanced into the mirror and smirked. This better be worth dragging her ass out of bed at two in the morning.

  Baldwin was on the couch, half asleep, piles of paper scattered across the cushions and floor. Taylor gave him a quick kiss on the forehead, told him where she was headed and let herself out of the house into the dark. A soft drizzle misted through her driveway. Shit.

  She got in her truck and slapped a red light on the dash. Speeding through Bellevue, she hit Old Hickory within five minutes, tearing up the deserted road, the stone guardrail flashing dark gray as she sped past. She passed the steeplechase course and the golf course, saw the stone entrance to Middleton a moment too late. A patrol car with emergency lights rotating sat at the entrance as she blew past. Braking carefully so she wouldn’t skid on the wet asphalt, she made a quick U-turn and turned left into the community. The patrol officer held out a hand, stopping her. She put the window down and waved. The patrol turned friendly.

  “Hey, Lieutenant.”

  “Good morning. Where’s the scene?”

  “Drive to the end of the road, then turn right. You can’t miss it, there’s a bunch of us down there. Why’re you here?”

  She ignored the question, gunning the truck and waving out the window as she drove through the big steel gates. The brick houses loomed like silent giants as she drove past. Porch lights spilled golden illumination into the street. She could see the flashing blue and white lights ahead of her. She followed the road to the end, parked behind the crime scene van, and made her way through the crowd to the tape that designated the crime scene control area. She saw Bob Parks standing in a puddle of light from a lamppost and went to him.

  “Bob,” she whispered in his ear, making him jump. He turned and gave her an uncharacteristically grim nod.

  “Good, you’re here,” he said. “I thought you’d want to see this.” He gestured toward the house, a stately two-story with white harled brick.

  “What’s happening? Dispatch said you had a home invasion with a possible rape?”

  “Yup—911 got a call from a kid inside the house. Kid heard noises from downstairs and came down. Saw his mom wrestling with a man in a mask. Guy had slipped in through the back French doors, grabbed the woman as she slept on the couch. Kid’s a smart little cuss, he ran right back to his room, locked the door and called 911. Patrol got here within a few minutes, but the guy had already done his thing and left.”

  “Did he rape her?”

  “Yep. She’s very shaken, but she did manage to tell us that he had a knife to her throat. It was all pretty fast.”

  “And you think it was the Rainman?”

  “Well, it is raining. Plus the MO sounded right. I know you’ve been dealing with the case, thought you should be here at the scene.”

  “The kid all right?”

  “Yeah, he’s fine. Shook up, but he may have saved his mom’s life, you know?”

  “Thanks for the heads-up. I don’t know how much I can do, but I’m glad you called. Lincoln and Marcus should be here soon. We’ll talk to the vic, see if she remembers anything that could help. We’ll have to get her to the hospital so they can do a PERK and check her out. Do you have guys searching around here?”

  “We do, got the dogs, too. Vic said he took off out the back door when he was finished, right as the sirens were within hearing distance. There’re heavy woods out there that back into the farm. That abuts to the parking lot of Christ Presbyterian.”

  Taylor stared off toward the north. “Did you get patrols in their parking lot? He may have parked there, then come in on foot.”

  “Yep. We’re on that. We don’t have anything yet. Like I said, just thought you’d want to know what was happening.”

  Taylor touched his arm. “I appreciate it, Bob. You did good to call me. Go on and do what you need to, I’ll just wait for Lincoln and Marcus and get into the house in a minute.”

  With a nod, Parks went off toward the house. Taylor took in the scene. There was a large crowd of people assembled, watching the drama unfold. Women in bathrobes and men in sweatpants stood in knots, necks craning to see whatever they could. Taylor was reminded of an evening when she was in her teens and a neighbor’s house caught fire. It seemed the whole neighborhood had gathered in the street to watch the conflagration envelop the home. People were drawn to tragedy l
ike moths to a flame.

  Years of training unconsciously kicked in, and she looked at each face in turn. No one seemed out of place. Tired countenances, lit with anguish, but all looking appropriately rumpled from being wakened in the middle of the night by sirens. She shook her head and turned toward the noise of another engine making its way down the road toward them.

  Lincoln Ross pulled up in his assigned vehicle. They weren’t supposed to bring personal cars to a crime scene, and he had grabbed an unmarked and made his way to the west side of town. Marcus was riding shotgun. What good boys, she thought. As she started toward them, a shadow caught her eye. She looked to the right, could have sworn she saw someone moving along the side of the house. Lincoln got out of the car and she silently got his attention, motioning with her head toward the house next door. She started that way slowly, not wanting to look as if she was chasing anything in the gloom, but intent on finding out what had caught her eye.

  Lincoln and Marcus joined her and they formed a flying V, walking slowly and carefully toward the darkened edge of the house. Lincoln whispered in her ear.

  “What’d you see?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered back. “Looked like a person standing on the side of the house. I just saw a quick shadow move. Might’ve been my imagination.”

  “Might’ve not,” Marcus growled. He unsnapped his holster, and Lincoln and Taylor followed suit.

  They were ten feet from the house. On top of the musky scent of soaked grass, Taylor thought she could smell a hint of gasoline. She stopped midstalk and turned to Lincoln. “Smell that?”

  “No. I don’t smell anything.”

  “Oil,” Marcus said. “Smells like a garage.”

  They shared a look of horror, having the same thought at once. Was someone trying to set this house on fire? Caution thrown to the wind, Taylor took off in a sprint. As she turned the corner of the house, she barely caught a glimpse of a shoe dangling off a retaining wall.

  “There he is!” she shouted, racing to the wall. She missed grabbing the ankle that belonged to the shoe by a fraction of a second. “Dammit, he’s gone over the retaining wall. Parks!” she yelled. “Parks, get your freakin’ dogs over here! He went over the wall!”

  With that, she took a running jump, pulling herself over the wall in one clean leap. She landed hard on the other side, breath knocked out for a moment. She could hear rustling and muttered cursing. Lincoln and Marcus came over the side.

  “You okay, LT?” Marcus hauled her to her feet.

  “Yeah, yeah, let’s go. He went through there.” She pointed into the dark woods. Lincoln snapped on a Maglite, Marcus followed with his. They could hear someone making his way quickly through the brush. Dogs were barking, people were screaming. Taylor took off after the noise.

  Branches scraped her face, and she put up an arm to ward off their blows. The shadowy figure they were chasing couldn’t be more than forty yards in front of them. The going was rough. Marcus tripped on a branch and his Maglite disappeared, making Lincoln’s one beam the only light they had. Then suddenly, the forest cleared and they were racing through the field that led behind the farm. Taylor could see the man they were chasing, he was getting winded, slowing up. She was gaining on him, could hear a dog to her right making tracks toward them. She didn’t want to be mistaken for the perp by the dog; he wouldn’t be discriminating when he started to bite.

  She pushed herself a little harder, long legs stretching out, running as hard as she could. The man was five feet away now, three… She left the ground and had her arms around him, taking him down from behind. He fought and kicked, lashing out, screaming at her. Lincoln was right behind her and grabbed on to the man’s leg, fighting him, trying to get a hand on his arms. The man turned ever so slightly in Taylor’s arms, and suddenly she saw stars. The impact of his fist snapped her head back and she almost let go. Suddenly Marcus was there, he and Lincoln had him. They rolled him over, snapped on the cuffs. She finally thought to breathe, realizing it hurt everywhere she could feel.

  The German shepherd was three feet away, on point, barking furiously at the suspect. The cacophony of shouts and barks nearly drowned out the suspect’s screams.

  “Get off me, you pigs! I didn’t do anything. Get the fuck off me.” The man was only able to squirm under Lincoln and Marcus’ combined weight.

  The dog’s handler appeared, calling him off. The German shepherd barked a few more times, then stood at attention, droplets of rain gathering on his whiskers, whining. Four more men came into view, and Lincoln rolled to the right, giving them access. Marcus got to his feet, dragging the man with him. The officers were all screaming different commands, pushing the suspect around. Taylor rolled onto her butt and sat, catching her breath.

  “I’m telling you I didn’t do anything. False arrest, false arrest. Let me go!”

  “That him?” she asked, the roar quieting at her commanding question. “Did we get the son of a bitch?”

  The man was practically being strip-searched, with affirmative answers coming from all involved.

  “Got a ski mask here.”

  “Got the knife.”

  “He’s got rope in this pocket. Shut up, you crazy motherfucker. We’ve got your ass.”

  Taylor rose to her feet. She strode to the man, who was still struggling. He stopped when he saw her, smiling a crazy smile. Her eye hurt, her head hurt, her legs were tired. But it looked like she had her man.

  There were several flashlights trained on him, giving plenty of light for an initial assessment. She gave him a once-over. He was wearing black cargo pants and a black T-shirt. He was thin and wiry, with ropy muscles snaking along his forearms. He was wearing black combat boots.

  “Quite the little ninja, aren’t you? What’s your name?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Nice. Any ID on him?”

  A few more pats, then a laugh. “He’s got his wallet in his pants pocket. What a frickin’ idiot.” The officer passed Lincoln the brown leather wallet. He opened it and extracted the man’s driver’s license.

  “Smart move, Norville. Folks, I’d like you to meet Norville Turner. Norville, meet the people who are responsible for making your life a living hell from here on out.” He looked at Taylor, shaking his head in the gloom. “Brings his wallet along. Brilliant.”

  “I didn’t do nothin’. You got nothin’ on me, pigs.” Turner started struggling again and was quickly subdued.

  Taylor got eye level with him. Stared into his eyes, searching. Realized that they’d taken him down for good. She wrinkled her nose. He smelled like dirty oil. “Shut up, Norville. Your fly’s open, you dumb ass.”

  He lunged and before she could jerk away, he spat at her. “Stupid cunt. What the fuck’re you doing? I didn’t do nothin’.”

  Taylor wiped at her face, furious. His captors started in on him again, but she stood her ground, waiting. When all the struggling and yelling finally stopped, she smiled back at him. Then she hauled back her right arm and landed as hard a blow as she could right into his jaw. His head snapped back and his knees buckled. The officers around her whooped and laughed. Lincoln came to one side, Marcus to her other.

  “When he wakes up, tell the fucker he’s under arrest.” Shaking her hand, her ponytail streaming down her back, she turned and walked away.

  *

  Taylor crashed back through the woods with Lincoln and Marcus in tow. Her head was throbbing and she was having trouble seeing out of her right eye. She felt wonderful.

  Returning to the scene, they saw complete pandemonium at hand. More patrol cars had piled into the street, an ambulance was parked catty-corner to the driveway of the victim’s house, lights flashing merrily in the night. The ubiquitous news vans had arrived. Taylor checked her watch, it was nearly 5:00 a.m. The newsies would be able to give live shots on the early-morning broadcasts.

  “Lincoln, Marcus, get on the horn with Price, tell him what just went down. I want to check in with the victim, see ho
w she’s holding up. You’ll need to get the suspect down to booking, then make up a six-pack for me. We’ll want to see if the victim can ID him. Maybe the mask slipped. Either way, he’ll need to be processed. Make sure it all goes smoothly for me, okay?”

  “Gotcha, boss. I’ll call ahead and have a photo array put together. I’m sure we can find five mug shots similar to this hosebag.” Marcus took her by the arm, turning her toward him so he could get a better view. “You’re gonna have one helluva shiner in a couple of hours.”

  Taylor used gentle fingers to explore her face. Wincing, she decided she didn’t want to see what she looked like anytime soon. “Yeah, well, all in the line of duty, you know?”

  Lincoln appeared at her side, offering a chemical ice pack he’d lifted from the back of the ambulance. “Here you go. You want me to stick around?”

  “No, you two go handle downtown. I’m all right here. Thanks, though.” She nodded at them in dismissal and started toward the house, holding the ice pack over her eye, trying not to jar her head. It had been a while since she’d taken one in the face, and she’d forgotten how much it hurt.

  Brian Post was exiting the house as she reached the front door.

  “Hey there, good to see ya, LT. Heard you took the bastard down all by yourself.”

  Taylor dropped the ice pack from her face. Post whistled long and hard.

  “Wow, that’s some shiner. You okay?”

  “I couldn’t be better. How’s our vic?”

  “You need a towel?” He eyed her dripping hair dubiously.

  “No, it’s letting up.”

  “Okay. Let me take you in.” They started toward the door, Post chattering away. The adrenaline had consumed them all. In a few hours they’d crash, but for now they were all on speed.

  “When we got the call, it was all I could do to keep Betsy in the bed. She wanted to come charging down here, deal with the vic herself. I practically had to handcuff her to get her to stay.”

  “That’s my girl.” Taylor gave him a crooked smile. “I wouldn’t expect anything less out of her. She’s a ballsy broad.”